Learning To Fly
by Diva In The House
Summary: "A soul in tension is learning to fly/condition grounded but determined to try."  After the events of Bombshells, House reluctantly decides to save himself.  No pairings, but plenty of OCs to go around.


**Hmm, just when I thought I didn't have any more House stories in me, along comes Bombshells. :P I know I'm not the only one who raged at what they did to House at the end of that episode. Consider this fic my response to the writers who seem to think he can't do better. I don't own any of the House characters (as if it isn't blatantly obvious).**

# # #

"House."

The unfamiliar voice made House look up, his hand frozen just before he popped the pills into his mouth. He glanced around the bathroom, but there was no one there.

Of course there was no one there. He was alone, again. How could he have expected anything else? He had taken a chance on love and lost. Big fat fucking surprise.

He had warned her. He had told her how screwed up he was. And Cuddy had accepted that, hell, had practically _embraced _it. Now, just a few short months later, it was over.

_I can do better._ House's own words kept echoing in his head, over and over. God, he had actually fucking _begged_ Cuddy not to end it. _Begged._ What the hell had happened to him? What had he become?

"Oh for God's sake, get off your ass." There was that voice again. House leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the voice.

Again, he saw no one. If he was hallucinating again…the thought sent a chill down his spine. But no, he couldn't be. He wasn't taking nearly enough Vicodin to induce hallucinations. He was just taking enough to take the edge off, to keep himself from slipping into withdrawal.

"You're deluding yourself." The voice chided him.

"What are you talking about?" House finally found his own voice.

"The drugs." The voice answered. "You've relapsed. Admit it."

"It doesn't matter." House spoke quietly, fiddling with the pills in his hand. "She'll never trust me again. Hell, she never trusted me in the first place."

"So what are you going to do about it?" The voice demanded. "Are you just going to sit on your bathroom floor and keep popping pills?"

"Maybe."

"Wuss." The voice snarled. "Get off your ass and quit feeling sorry for yourself."

"I'm…"

"You _are_." House felt movement, and suddenly a shapeless figure was in front of him, something like a hand touching his face. "You _can_ do better. Now get off this floor and do it."

With that, the figure was gone as quickly as it had appeared. House let out a sigh of relief and tossed the pills into his mouth, swallowing hard, letting the soothing numbness take him over. So what if he was relapsing? Nothing he did mattered anyway.

# # #

House awoke with a start, completely disoriented at the light that was just starting to come into his bathroom. His tailbone was sore, and his leg was killing him from spending so much time on the floor. Getting up was going to be a bitch.

He maneuvered so that he could lever himself to his feet, wavering as he found his balance before staggering toward the bathroom mirror. The haggard face that greeted him surprised even himself.

So life had returned to some semblance of normal. House couldn't say he was either surprised or disappointed. It just…was. He managed to get himself ready for work, running on automatic pilot until he arrived at the hospital.

He paused briefly just outside the clinic doors, peering at Cuddy's darkened office. At least he wouldn't have a reason to run into her today. House was sure there wasn't enough Vicodin in the world to handle that right now.

"How is she?" Wilson's voice snapped House out of his thoughts.

House turned and glanced at Wilson before starting toward the elevators. "Single."

It took a moment for House to realize that Wilson was no longer in step with him. He stopped at turned to see Wilson staring at him, seemingly frozen in his tracks, his mouth agape.

House huffed and rolled his eyes before continuing on toward the elevators. Footsteps behind him told him that Wilson wasn't far behind. The other man caught up to him just as the doors opened.

"What do you mean, _single_?" Wilson demanded. "What did you _do?_"

House glared at his friend, but didn't answer. It wouldn't matter how he explained it. Wilson would still assume House was in the wrong, as always.

They stepped off the elevator, separating as Wilson started toward his own office. Wilson pointed at House accusingly. "Fix it."

House huffed irritably and turned his back on Wilson, heading to his office. What a moron. Couldn't he see there was no way House could fix this one? He had done everything he knew how to do, and it hadn't been enough. There was nothing left to fix. Besides, House hadn't broken things off, Cuddy had. But there was no point in explaining that to Wilson. It was likely Wilson wouldn't believe it.

The team was gathered around the conference room table discussing something. Either it was Chase's latest conquest or a new patient. House dumped his backpack and coat into the Eames chair and pushed open the conference room door.

"Good morning, kids." The team looked toward him as one, each face reflecting various reactions to his appearance. "What have we got?"

Foreman slid a copy of a file to the end of the table as House plopped down into a chair. "Bull rider came into the ER with…"

"Boring." House snapped.

"But we haven't even…" Masters started.

House stopped her with a look, and the student regarded him with a wide eyed expression before shifting back to the file, shuffling a few papers nervously.

"Fine." House let out a long sigh as he pushed himself out of his chair, digging for the pill bottle and popping open the cap. "Go do…all that doctor stuff that you do. Take the rugrat with you."

Foreman, Chase, and Taub all gave him some version of an incredulous look at the appearance of the Vicodin, but House ignored them all as he limped heavily into his office and slid open the balcony door.

He made his way to the railing and leaned against it, staring out over the landscape.

"It's a long way down." That voice again. "Almost guaranteed you wouldn't survive."

"I'm not going to jump." House snapped, ignoring the chill that went through him. "That's stupid."

"Is it?" The voice was almost taunting now. "You've managed to screw up everything. Your relationship, your sobriety…and look now. Now you're hearing voices. It won't be long before you start seeing things. And you know what that means…"

"No." House shook his head.

"_Yes_." The voice hissed in his ear. "You're losing it, House. Without your mind, what's left for you? _Nothing_."

House's heart pounded hard in his chest as he considered things. He couldn't do this again. Detox, rehab, the endless cycle of breaking down and rebuilding just to break down again. What was the point?

"That's right, there you go." The voice was almost soothing as House slowly swung one leg, then the other over the balcony wall. "No more pain, no more disappointment, no more letting people down. You can end it all right here."

It would be so easy, House knew. All he had to do was let go of the railing, lean forward a little, and down he'd go. So why couldn't he let go?

"What are you waiting for?" The voice seemed to read his mind. "Do you need a push?"

With that House felt something nudge him forward, and panic suddenly surged through him as he clung tighter to the railing.

The voice sighed, almost in disappointment. "You're pathetic. You don't even have the balls to take yourself out."

"House?" Wilson's voice pulled House back to reality. "Jesus, what the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing." House quickly swung his legs back over the balcony and landed easily on his feet.

Wilson pointed at him with one hand on his hip. "Don't go anywhere. I'm coming over."

House sighed roughly and let himself slide to the floor of the balcony, playing with the pill bottle in his hand. Wilson would be in his glory now, he was sure of it. The man was never happier than when he was cleaning up some mess House left behind.

The balcony door slid open, revealing Wilson. House lifted his eyes and met him with a half-smirk. "My hero."

Wilson looked pained as he bent down on one knee to examine House closer. "My God, you're high." He murmured incredulously.

"No shit, really." House snapped, rolling his eyes.

Wilson stood and threw up his hands. "How, House? And how long has this been going on? Never mind, don't answer that."

"Yeah, because we know I'll just lie." House mocked. "Addicts do, you know."

The look of disappointment that had settled on Wilson's face did something to House, but he chose to shove it aside. It wasn't as if Wilson really cared, anyway.

After a long silence, Wilson finally spoke. "If you need me, I'm here."

"Just go." House answered wearily. "I'm fine."

Wilson twisted his mouth, appearing to debate himself before shaking his head and leaving.

"_Alone again…naturally_." The voice started singing in House's ear. "Well done, well done."

"Go away." House growled, pushing himself to his feet.

"No can do." The voice answered cheerfully. "We're in this together, until death do us part."

House swallowed hard, trying to ignore the voice, but it kept following him. "Shut up…just shut up and leave me alone."

"I haven't even said anything yet." Masters was suddenly in front of him, a case file in her hand and a baffled expression on her face.

House glared at her and gestured for the file, scanning it briefly before nearly throwing it back at her. "No need. I already know you're wrong. Now go find your brothers and tag along with them. I'm leaving."

He gathered his things and left Masters sputtering behind him, speeding toward the elevators as quickly as he could.

"You don't think you can escape me, can you?" The voice was right there again. "Wherever you go, I go. We belong together."

House knew the voice was right. There was only one way to make the voice disappear. Well, two, really, but he had already tossed out one option back on his office balcony.

"Oh, come on now." The voice scolded him. "You can't give up the pills. We're just starting to get to know each other."

"I already know where this is going." House answered, well aware of the questioning looks that surrounded him on the elevator. He shot the other people a glare. "Yes, I'm talking to myself. What?"

Everyone turned away, and the voice laughed heartily in his ear. "Oh, way to go. Now _everyone _knows you're losing your mind again. What are you going to do next, shout a bunch of nonsense from the balcony?"

House swallowed hard, feeling the panic swell up again. What the hell had he been thinking? He had only intended to take that one pill, just enough to get him through Cuddy's surgery, just enough to allow him to be what she needed, _just this once_.

"It's never 'just this once'." The voice reminded him once he was back in his car. "You know better than that."

House sighed heavily, resting his head across his arms against the steering wheel. He could almost feel a presence surrounding him, wrapping him up, an odd warmth sinking into him.

"Let's go home." The voice whispered.

House nodded numbly and started the car, somehow making his way back home. Once there, he found himself at a loss. Now what?

"Now what, indeed." The voice echoed his thoughts. "You've lost damn near everything. There's nowhere to go but up."

House sighed heavily, having long since given up the idea of finding the source of the voice. He plopped down on the couch and opened up his laptop, starting a Google search for drug rehab and detox facilities.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" The voice questioned. "You're too smart for those people. You know how to play the game."

"It's no game." House answered fiercely, pointing and clicking and typing as he continued his search.

The voice laughed. "Look at you! And here it didn't look like you had any fight left in you."

"Shut up." House growled as he found a link and clicked on it. The site itself wasn't exactly loaded with information, but there was a toll-free number.

House paused with the phone in his hand, unable to push the buttons. The presence made itself known again, surrounding him.

"You need this, and you know it." The voice whispered. "There's only one other way out of this."

"And I'm not going there." House answered.

"That's right." The voice affirmed. "Make the call."

House took a deep breath and punched in the numbers. Someone picked up on the first ring.

"Clarity Way." The voice on the other end was almost too cheerful.

House glanced around the room. The presence he had only felt before was starting to take shape into something almost recognizable. Random voices were one thing. Full on visual hallucinations were entirely another.

His stomach churned. This couldn't be happening again, and yet, here it was, right in front of him. Irrefutable proof.

"I need help." Even as the words came out of House's mouth, he couldn't believe it.

"That's an excellent first step." The voice at the other end answered kindly. "Let's get some more information and we can get the admittance process started."

House breathed out a sigh of relief, and he could have sworn he spotted the presence give him something like a smile. No, that couldn't be. It wasn't real.

He somehow got through the phone interview, where he was informed that yes, he could be admitted immediately. After the call was complete, House automatically started to call Wilson.

House closed his phone and shoved it in his pocket before he completed the call. No, he wasn't going to burden Wilson with this. Not this time.

"Flying solo, huh?" The voice asked.

"I have to." House replied quietly.

"If you say so."

House dug into the pocket of his jeans for the pill bottle, turning it over and over in his hand. He could feel the withdrawal starting, the allure of the relief he would find in that bottle pulling him in. _Just one more, just one more, and then I'll call it quits._

"Bullshit." The voice hissed. "You said it yourself. The game's over."

House clutched the prescription bottle tighter and tighter until he felt it crack in his hand, the pieces and pills falling to the floor. His whole body started shaking with fury. Fury at himself and his own miserable failures, for everything he had ever lost to this insanity.

"That's it. Get angry." The voice encouraged him. "Get good and pissed off. _Fight back_."

House threw what was left of the bottle on the floor and limped toward the bedroom, finding a suitcase and starting to pack.

As he packed, it occurred to him that there were other arrangements he needed to make. More phone calls. Great.

He finished packing and sat down heavily on the bed, pulling out his phone and making the one call he dreaded.

"Cuddy." The voice on the other end sounded drained.

House took a deep breath before starting. "It's House."

A heavy sigh on the other end was the initial response. "What do you want?"

"I'm going into treatment." He told her.

"Good for you." Cuddy answered irritably. "This doesn't change anything between us, you know."

"I know." House replied sharply. "I'm telling you as your employee."

There was a brief pause before Cuddy spoke again. "Call HR and let them know so you can make arrangements for a medical leave. We'll…work everything else out." There was another long silence. "Good luck, House."

House simply hung up, sitting on the bed for a moment before calling HR and making his arrangements with them. Explaining his circumstances, especially the break-up with Cuddy, was painful, but House knew it had to be done.

Finally the arrangements were made, and there was nothing left to do but make the trip.

After much internal debate, House finally decided to call Wilson. If he answered, he'd ask for a ride to the rehab facility. If not, he'd drive himself. Not that big a deal.

Wilson answered on the second ring. Just House's luck. "House? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Need a ride." House told him sharply.

"Where…to…?" Wilson sounded uncertain.

"Rehab facility in Pennsylvania." House answered quickly. "I'm going into treatment."

There was a long silence before Wilson replied. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"I'm on my way."

House blew out a long sigh as he closed his phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

"You're doing it." The disembodied voice spoke. "You're really doing it." House felt the presence come closer, something like warm breath on his cheek. "You're doing the right thing, House. Good for you."

House closed his eyes, a weariness settling over him. In theory, he was making the right decision, but where would it lead? Would it stick this time, or would it fall apart the minute he ran into tough times? House honestly didn't know, but there was some small part of him that yearned to find out.

# # #

**Back to you, readers. Read and review.**


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